


If We Fly, We Fly Together

by FickleBiscuits



Series: Black Ties and Red Capes [2]
Category: Supergirl (TV 2015), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, But Still Teen Wolf, Crack, Crack Crossover, Crack Treated Seriously, M/M, More of the Same, What Even Is My Life?, super heroes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 20:51:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13911990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FickleBiscuits/pseuds/FickleBiscuits
Summary: The sequel to I Don’t Think Lois Lane Will Stay.It's six months later and our dynamic duo is doing well, as well as they can given one is an internationally famous superhero with a demanding day job and the other is an FBI agent for one of the government's top divisions. But hey, if it were easy, everyone would do it.Besides, now they've found each other nothing could possibly upset their newfound happiness...Right?





	If We Fly, We Fly Together

  There are pros to dating Superman.

  The guy’s built like a bullet train, fucks like a marathon runner, has a heart of gold and also manages to be the sweetest fucking boyscout over the age of thirty while still tearing Stiles the fuck up in bed. Derek also has the ability to fly Stiles (superspeed) to work on the days that Stiles sleeps through his alarm (Which has totally never happened, pshaw.).

  Oh yes, there are many, many pros to dating Superman.

  Stiles looks down from where he’s been perched at the edge of the Daily News’ big gold globe, down to the street a nauseatingly long plummet below him and his brain, still muddled from whatever knock out drug he’d gotten gassed with, gives a gigantic lurch. Stiles leans back, eyes lolling towards the sky and that’s so much better. Fuck, what was in that needle?

  Gingerly Stiles tests the bindings on his wrists and ankles; they don’t budge an inch. 

  This, he decides, is definitely in the ‘con’ category of dating Superman.

  “Hey,” He turns, well more like leans over awkwardly to call to the guy standing a few yards away dressed head to toe in black. 

_  Code: badguy anyone? _

  “He-llo-oh!”

  The guy doesn’t answer, continues the obviously vital task of scanning the horizon. Stiles rolls his eyes and scoots himself a little further away from the edge of the building because he wants none of that business, thank you very much. He can feel the press of his standard issue Glock 22 pressing into his hip, which, yeah would be a huge oversight if Stiles were actually capable of folding himself in half to reach it. Which he can’t. 

  Stiles makes a mental note to ask Lydia about openings in her Yoga class. If he makes it out of this alive that is.

  He doesn’t even know why he’s here though. He’s mostly sure it has to do with Superman, but if the guy doesn’t fucking talk to him...! 

  “Hey.” Stiles tries again, a little louder. “I am talking to you, asshole.”

  Still nothing.

  “Great.” Stiles says aloud. “Of all the bad guys who could’ve kidnapped me, I have to get the one who doesn’t monologue. What self-respecting supervillain doesn’t monologue? This a prime monologue opportunity you’re passing up.” He shouts the last sentence.

  “Seriously, no death threats? No tragic backstory? No tacky monicor? No evil demands? Nothin’? You’re just going to stand there like a villainous statue?”

  Apparently. Man in Black seems pretty content just to stare off into the light pollution, waiting for...well, whatever the Hell he’s waiting for. And to ignore Stiles.

_   Dick. _

  “Typical.” Stiles huffs. He leans his head down at an awkward angle and tries to get his mouth around one of the zip ties securing his wrists. 

  “All the villains in Metropolis and I had to get one that’s broken.”

  “You’re going to break your teeth.” The man’s voice is low and gravelly and heavily distorted. 

  “What?” Stiles says, mouth full of ribboned plastic.

  “That’s a poly-carbon Kevlar blend you’ve got in your mouth, coated with the same ablative polymer that NASA uses on their space shuttles to reduce friction and heat absorption. So you’re going to break your teeth before you managed to gnaw through that.”

  Stiles spits out the zip tie from Hell, but then immediately leans back down to take a small nibble when his captor’s back is turned. 

  His teeth hurt.

  Stiles whines and tugs at the ties binding his arms and legs together in the 1/10,000,000 chance that they’ll miraculously shatter. They don’t. Because Stiles’ life is a massive bitch like that. So without any alternatives springing immediately to mind, he flops onto his back to glare silently up at the night sky.

  Which lasts all of about twenty seconds. So Stiles still has trouble with ADHD, it’s really this guys fault for not making sure Stiles was properly medicated before kidnapping him. Either that, or the stuff he dosed Stiles with is still messing with his head. 

  Stiles groans. Worst. Kidnapping. Ever. And he’s had to deal with a lot of them since transferring to the Meta division’s task force; so he knows the good kidnappers from the bad ones.

  Guy didn’t even bring snacks.

  “Hey, hey dude…” He lolls his head to look at his captor. “What’s your name?”

  But the guy has gone back to silence and Stiles is left to entertain himself.

  “Hey, you’re going to want to tell me.” Stiles grins. “I mean, this is going on an official case file somewhere. I mean, I can totally make something up, but you probably wouldn’t like it.”

  Nothing.

  “Okaaaaaay…” Stiles sing-songs and then trains his eyes back to the starless sky, considering.

  “The Black Pantser…

  “Mr. Ziptie…

  “Captain Brevity…

  “Not Lex Luthor…”

  The guy is suddenly crouching over Stiles, one hand fisting the front of his shirt and tangling his tie and Stiles is being pulled bodily upward until he can feel the guy’s breath on his face. It takes every ounce of FBI training and self control not to start babbling apologies, but the dude isn’t even paying attention to him, well, not beyond the obvious fact that he’s got Stiles dangling from one hand. He’s...actually muttering to himself.

  “Hasn’t arrived yet. Must be out of state limits. We’ll need to try more proactive measures.”

  Stiles does not like the sound of that.

  “Hey, hey, what do you mean? Let’s not do anything we’ll regret with my internal organs or detachable body parts. Do you need me to scream? I can scream. Dude, I will scream for you so hard.”

  The guy stands up and tosses Stiles off the building.

  Thing is. Stiles wasn’t lying. He’s rather proud of his lungs. They’ve gotten him out of some real jams in the past, nothing like, you know, plummeting towards the earth from several hundred stories up, but Stiles is nothing if not a tryer.

  “Oh shit! Oh fuck! Oh, fuck!” Wind and darkness and lights rushing up way too fast. Stiles feels suddenly too hot and his head is muddy, but instinct kicks in and he’s screaming.

  “Derek. Derek! Oh shit! Derek!”

  Arms wrap around him and the sensation of falling is replaced with the sensation of soaring. 

  “Stiles.” Derek sounds a little breathless. “What’s going on?”

  “I think I just met the President of your fanclub.” Stiles gulps glibly, trying to catch his breath. Fuck, his heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest. 

  “Between you and me, we need to find you some better fans. Because that one? Is nucking futs.”

  “I noticed.” Derek says, his voice a hard edge. They’re setting down on a balcony, though Derek doesn’t put Stiles down immediately. He stalks over to a nearby patio set and gently eases Stiles down onto it. Derek kneels down to pull apart the zip ties like they’re made of silly-string. He peers up at Stiles, his face a mask of concern.

  “Are you okay?”

  Stiles, who’s decided that shock is for losers, nods his head and gulps the cold night air in slow, deep inhales. He never thought he could appreciate the smell of musty alleyway and old concrete so much as he does in that moment. Fuck, but breathing is a beautiful thing.

  It takes him a few minutes to calm his pulse, but eventually the adrenaline fog clears enough from Stiles brain for him to say.

  “We’ve gotta go back.”

  Derek’s expression shifts from worry to distressed concern and he’s suddenly grabbing Stiles head in both hands, turning him this way and that like he’s inspecting Stiles for nano transmitters or brain pods.

  “What the…? What are you doing?” Stiles tries futilly to pry Derek’s hands off of his head. Derek runs a hand through the short hair at the base of Stiles’ skull, carefully massaging the scalp.

  “Checking for head trauma.” Derek replies in all seriousness.

  “Oh, ha, ha.” Stiles deadpans and tries again to tug Derek’s hands away. They still don’t budge.

  “There is a seriously messed up dude who wants to meet you badly enough to kidnap me.”

  Derek’s eyebrows ask ‘So?’

  Stiles rolls his eyes.

  “Derek, this guy knows I’m connected to you enough that you’ll come immediately when I’m in danger. Or at least he had a very good incling until you confirmed it by actually flying to my rescue.”

  At Derek’s unimpressed look, Stiles rushes on.

“For which I am extremely grateful and am not upset by in the least and will definitely be sucking your brains out through your dick once we get back to your place. But! Unless we stop him, he’s going to come back and throw me off more buildings and I don’t really feel like I need to keep taking that one for the team, okay?”

  Derek releases Stiles’ head, fucking finally, and begins pacing.

  “Then I’ll go.” Derek says and crouches to take off.

  “Woe, woe, woe!” Stiles jumps to his feet and immediately regrets it when the blood rushes to his head. He falls back into the chair and leans down until his head is between his knees.

  “Just...hold on a second, Champ. You’re going to need backup.”

  Derek starts laughing

  Fuck him.

  Okay, so maybe Derek has a point and Stiles, sitting there trying not to pass out is not the best candidate for backing up a world famous superhero while he confronts a supervillain with Hell zip ties and zero interest in monologuing. (Seriously, who does that?!) And yeah, Stiles would agree, except there really isn’t any time to grab anyone else. Every second they delay here is another second that masked creep has a chance to get away and throw someone else off of a building!

  Stiles might be fixating a little too much.

  To be fair though, Stiles is pretty sure no one has ‘being flung repeatedly off building’ on their bucket list. This is his first and if he has his way, it’s his last. Thank you supervillains everywhere.

  “What you need to do is call this in and let someone else in the division take care of it.” Derek says gently, coming back to stand in front of Stiles. Stiles feels a warm hand curl around the back of his neck and he sighs into the contact.

  “Let Lydia know you’re okay. I’ll get this guy. I promise, Stiles.”

  Stiles closes his eyes. He’s feeling a lot less light headed, but stays leaned over. They don’t get a lot of alone time, even now that they’re dating, one of the cons of dating an FBI agent. So small, simple moments like these are hard to come by and he appreciates them all the more for their scarcity.

  “Yeah, okay.” He breaths and reaches up the tangle the fingers of their free hands together.

  “How sweet.” A familiar synthesized voice crows and Stiles jerks upright in his chair. It’s the dude from the Daily Planet!

  “How?” Stiles starts and the man just laughs, raising his hand. Clutched within his ridiculous black gloves is a smallish rectangle with a glowing readout. Contained in that readout is a single blinking red dot.

  Stiles has never been so disappointed in a dot in his entire life.

  “Fuck me.” He sighs and starts rummaging through his pockets and the insides of his collar and sleeves.

  “It’s the zip ties, actually.” The man has the audacity to look smug at Stiles expense and climbs fully onto the balcony, though he stays at the farest end away from Stiles and Derek. Jokes on him though, Stiles thinks, unless he can move at supersonic speed.

  Which, okay, to be fair he might. But Stiles highly doubts anyone can match his stud for speed. Derek’s the fastest in the universe.

  Regardless, this guys totally knows that he’s standing in the same balcony as Superman, so he’s insane, or stupid or some terrifying combination of the two, which does absolutely nothing to calm the uptick in Stiles’ heartbeat.

  The masked man cocks his head to one side and Derek’s hand falls away from Stiles’ neck as he side-steps to stand between them.

  The man in black clicks his fucking tongue, like Derek’s some toddler acting out.

  “No need for that, Derek.”

  And that has Stiles jumping up. Thankfully he keeps his feet this time and jumps in front of his boyfriend, like what the fuck, and has his gun trained on the asshole before he’s found his stance. The sound of the gun cocking in the still air is remarkably satisfying.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Stiles grits out. He is officially done with this clown.

  “And how do you know his name?”

  The man leans back and crosses his arms over his chest, looking for all the world like they’re having a nice calm conversation about the weather.

  “There’s no need for that, Stiles.”

  Stiles’ knuckles turn white where he’s gripping the gun.

  “I’ll ask you one more time and then I’m going to bust a cap in you, so help me.”

  “Derek, please tell you boyfriend that there’s no need for alarm. I’m just here to pay a social call.”

  Stiles hears Derek’s weary sigh before his hand settles over the top of Stile’s arm, applying an easy pressure and letting Stiles drop his arms down to his sides.

  “What?” Stiles glances over at Derek, but Derek isn’t looking at him. His face is scrunched up in displeasure and he’s glaring daggers at the man in black.

  “I think introductions are in order, don’t you?” The man invites.

  “Stiles.” Derek sighs, rubbing a hand over his face.

  “This is my Uncle Peter.”

**Author's Note:**

> Dun, dun, dun!  
> ; : >  
> Leave a kudos or comment if you like. You can also find me on Tumblr @ea-stofnar.  
> Until next time!


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